The Red Lady
by dragonfey57
Summary: Where do powerful immortals go when they have a desire to let go of that power? To have someone else master them, order them about? Why the Red Lady of course!


A/N:This may continue or not. I also realize I have an orphan story and I am going to start working on it again. It may change but not because of the show. I also have a new wordpress site. It is the common thing dragonfey57 at wordpress dot com. Just starting it out. Any ideas appreciated. I will be upfront, I will be slow. My health has dramatically declined in the last couple of years. My body is rebelling and it is all chronic life long things. Recently one very alarming diagnoses so I want to write again. It is always what I wanted to do.

* * *

He looked at the simple, laminated sign on the door.

"This is the first step and the last chance to walk away. Make your decision now. It is the last decision you will make tonight."

"Presumptuous yet true," he thought as he opened the heavy ornate, hand hewn oak door. There were two heartbeats in the house. One belonged to the woman he met at the door of the ante-bellum mansion and the other he couldn't place, but it wasn't behind the door he had just opened.

As he stepped in the oak door closed itself and locked. Surprised he turned quickly, just in time to see the lock blend seamlessly into the wood of the door. When he reached for the place it had resided he was literally shocked with a fairly strong surge of electricity. "Clever," he thought, "electricity. Truly no more decisions to be made."

A compulsion to look left overcame him and an antique woman's secretary came into view. The desk was open, a handwritten letter lying upon it with a quill pen next to it. Eric walked up to the desk and noticed a small plaque asking, no requesting him to remove his shoes and place them next to the secretary. He bent to remove his black leather boots and saw the bamboo mat on the floor next to the desk. He thought the cane of the bamboo set off the black of his leather boots quite nicely.

Turning back to the parchment, for that is what it was, some type of skin, he could not tell what species it was made of although it seemed familiar. Very familiar. Almost sweet. He noticed the quill was silver tipped, so the contract would be signed in blood. A sup contract then. It read:

Eric Northman: You have freely agreed to partake in the services of the Lady Red. This contract will apply to any and all visits you make with her, regardless of location. You will never reveal the details of your visits to anyone, including any in your bloodline, upon penalty of final death. You will not describe, in the event you are able, the appearance of Lady Red to anyone.

Lady Red agrees to never reveal her relationship in any form to any other being. There are two beings who work at the house. They never know the names of those who visits and are spell bound unable to describe those who come. They have volunteered for this.

Lady Red further agrees to leave no permanent marks, not to maim, or to punish you further than what she deems you can handle. If you can not proceed to a place of safety on your own after your visit you will be provided with a place of safety which can be locked from the inside only. You will also be provided with fresh-BAGGED donor blood.

_ Eric the Norseman

_ Lady Red

Eric picked up the silver quill and punched it into his wrist. When it collected enough blood he signed his name on the contract and watched in amazement as Lady Red's name appeared in blood, although a slightly different shade of red directly below his.

"STAND UP STRAIGHT AND FACE ME!"

Eric swirled around to face a red velvet cloak that hid the obviously feminine figure standing in the corner. A corner that was decidedly empty but a moment before. One that now had a heartbeat. One very slow heartbeat. "Excuse me m'lady I…"

"I GAVE YOU NO LEAVE TO SPEAK TO THIS ONE! YOU SHALL NOW REMAIN SILENT OR BE PUNISHED." Eric stood straight, and dropped his eyes to the floor. He heard the gently sway of the velvet cape against the waxed floor but no footsteps with it. Was she vampire? He had heard she was strong enough to be a Mistress to even the oldest vampire, or fae, She did not back down to anything they might require, to let go of their guard. Of their need to be subjugated. To be told what to do and to let go of all responsibility and power. To be taken care of. It was the most dangerous place especially for the old ones. He had been told her name and how to contact her. But that was all. Now he knew why. On pain of final death.

And obviously she left no openings for doubt of who was in charge.


End file.
